Inner Demons
by bree1387
Summary: After a serious injury, Charlie's life takes a downward spiral that will slowly destroy it unless Don can help him in time. Complete
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **After a serious injury, Charlie's life takes a downward spiral that will slowly destroy it unless Don can help him in time.

**Warnings**: This story deals with minor drug abuse, although **nothing** illegal is done. If this bothers you, please don't read. There is also a lot of angst and one act of violence in this chapter.

**Author's Note**: This story started as a response to a challenge posted by D. Lerious to have one of the Eppes' become addicted to pain killers. I couldn't quite make it work, so this is what I got instead.

**Author's Note 2: **I am nervous about posting this because it deals with a sensitive topic that has not always been openly received. This story is a character study that deals more with Charlie battling his inner demons than drug abuse. I have done my research and tried my best to make this realistic.

**Feedback: **I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please don't flame me, though. I have warned you about the content.

**Disclaimer: **The characters you recognize belong to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci. I am making no money from this.

Thanks to my beta** Elise**. This story was a challenge.

**Inner Demons**

**Part 1/6**

by Megan

_All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, and desire._

_-Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC)_

"Charlie, whatever happens, I need you to promise me you'll stay in the car, all right?" Don wanted to make it clear to Charlie that he wasn't going to tolerate another 'consultant in the line of fire' incident. The memory of the sniper's attack was still too fresh in his mind. He still woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares that left him believing Charlie had been killed.

"I will. I have all the data I need so there's no reason for me to go anywhere," replied Charlie.

Charlie had been assisting Don with tracking the movements of a kidnapper. Three children had been taken in the past week and no one had seen anything. At least no one had until now.

An hour ago, a frantic mother had called and reported her child had been taken from a public park. There were witnesses this time, and as luck would have it, someone saw the man and child enter a condemned building minutes from the park. Charlie had been riding with Don when the call came in and there was no time for Don to do anything with Charlie except take him to the building.

"Suspect spotted on building main floor, west end. No sign of the child. Over," came the static-filled voice of a police officer over Don's radio.

"Nobody goes in until I get there, is that clear?" Don ordered. He'd worked too many kidnappings and knew things could go south quickly.

Don pulled up beside the LAPD cruisers and hopped out, gun drawn.

"Stay here, Charlie!" he ordered once again.

Charlie watched as his brother joined the group of officers. By Don's hand gestures, he knew he was giving out clear instructions as to how to enter and retrieve the girl, and any of the other kidnapped children if they were still alive. One by one, Don and all of the officers, except one, entered the building.

What happened next did so with such speed that Charlie didn't have time to process it. Someone shouted, followed by a flash of movement as the young child ran from the building. The officer that had remained on the outside moved quickly to intercept her, but not before Charlie saw the sun glint off what could only be a handgun poking out of one of the windows. It was aimed at the little girl.

With a speed born of terror, Charlie was out of the car and running before he even realized what he was doing. He was so certain he wasn't going to make it in time. Pushing hard with his legs, he jumped the remaining distance and grabbed the girl at the exact moment the crack of a gunshot, followed by another more muffled one, echoed off the neighbouring buildings.

He felt his body jerk, followed by a hard landing on his left side with the girl safely enveloped in his arms. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. He only thought of the scared little girl in his arms.

"Are you all right?"

Charlie couldn't see who had spoken, but knew it had to be the police officer. He felt the little girl being removed from his arms.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"I think..."

"Charlie!" Don's frantic voice called out. "Charlie! Are you okay?"

Charlie had taken a few deep breaths and was trying to ignore the numbness creeping down his left leg and into his lower back. He tried to keep his fear in check.

"I think I might have pulled something," he shakily answered.

Don quickly started visually assessing Charlie for injuries. Cold tendrils of fear had started seeping into him when he realized Charlie was making no move to get up. He dropped to his knees next to him. "Where are you hurt, Charlie?"

"I... I don't know. What happened?"

"It's all right, Charlie. Don't worry about that now." He had run his shaking hands through Charlie's hair looking for blood, and was working his way down his chest and back. "Is this hurting anywhere?"

"No." Charlie's voice was getting weaker. One of the officers behind him could be heard requesting an ambulance.

Don continued his search, and was completely unprepared for the howl of agony that escaped his brother when he pressed his hand into Charlie's left hip. Jerking his hand back as though he'd been burned, he felt panic starting to grip his mind.

"Oh god!" Charlie yelled, curling in on himself.

Don thought his heart was going to stop when he noticed the blood pooling underneath his brother. "Damn it! Where the hell's that ambulance!" he yelled. "Charlie, I have to roll you over and take a look, all right?" he stated with urgency.

Charlie shook his head no. He was in too much pain to try and form a response.

"I'll be as gentle as I can." He motioned for one of the other officers to help, and together they rolled his younger brother onto his back.

Charlie's face was ashen, and his eyes tightly shut. Don was vaguely aware of someone putting a rolled jacket under Charlie's legs. The wound was low on Charlie's left side, only inches above where his leg joined his body. Blood was steadily seeping out; staining the ground.

"This is gonna hurt, Buddy," Don said as he placed one hand on the other and pressed them both as hard as he could against the wound.

Thrashing, Charlie was so weakened from the loss of blood there was no way he could have dislodged Don's hands. Slowly, the fight drained out of him and his muscles slackened as he mercifully lost consciousness.

Feeling the moment Charlie went limp, Don was about to yell for the ambulance again when he heard the sirens, followed by the screeching of tires as it arrived and came to a stop.

He felt firm hands grasp his shoulders and pull him out of the way, but refused to move any further than was absolutely necessary. With a detached fascination, he watched as the paramedics cared for his brother. IV's were quickly started, a pressure dressing was applied to Charlie's hip, and he was on the back board and being rushed to the ambulance in no time at all.

"Don. Don, are you okay?" A distinctly feminine voice pierced the fog that was rolling into his mind. He tore his gaze from the retreating ambulance and locked onto the concerned face of his partner and friend, Terry Lake.

"What?"

"I asked if you were okay." She gestured to the blood staining his hands and clothes.

"Oh. It's... it's Charlie's," he quietly answered. The horror of the past few minutes hadn't caught up with him yet. He was surprised his voice was as steady as it was.

"There are other field agents on the scene now that can handle this. I'm driving you to the hospital."

Don looked one last time at the spot where Charlie had lain. All that remained was discarded medical equipment and scarlet blood.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Terry expertly pulled the SUV up to the emergency department beside the ambulance that had delivered Charlie. Don was out and running for the ER before Terry had come to a complete stop. She knew he hadn't heard when she told him that she was going to park the vehicle.

Don ran into the ER. Pulling out his badge, he stopped the first person wearing scrubs to enter his line of sight and demanded to know where Charlie had been taken. The startled young orderly had hesitantly pointed Don in the direction of the trauma rooms.

The chaos that was the ER didn't register with Don. Charlie was his only concern, and he was going to find him. Dodging people and medical equipment, Don heard yelling coming from a room at the end of the hall. Stepping up his pace even more, he sprinted to the double doors and peeked inside. He almost died at what he saw.

The naked form of his little brother burned itself into his mind. Charlie's bloodied clothes has been hastily cut off and shoved into a white plastic bag. There was a sheet pulled up to mid-thigh, providing no protection from prying eyes or the cold.

His pale complexion stood out in stark contrast against the blood covering the left side of the gurney and most of his lower body. With a jolt, Don realized Charlie's eyes were open. A sharp cry of pain was jerked from his little brother's throat when the doctor probed a tender area.

Not able to stand helplessly while his brother suffered, Don shoved open the doors. Five startled pairs of eyes, and one confused pair, locked onto him. Before he could reach Charlie's side, a rather large nurse blocked his path.

"Sir, you can't be in here," she forcefully stated.

"Like hell I can't. That's my brother!" he emphatically stated. No one was going to take him from Charlie's side again.

The nurse was about to physically remove him from the room when Charlie softly called his name.

"Charlie, I'm here," he responded.

"It's all right," the doctor told the nurse.

Don was immediately at Charlie's side, gently taking his hand. Tears pricked at his eyes as he took in Charlie's frightened expression. He'd give anything to take away the pain his brother was feeling.

"It hurts," Charlie breathed.

"I know, Buddy. I know."

"You said you're his brother?" the doctor addressed him.

"That's right."

"Does he have any allergies or medical conditions?"

"No, none."

The doctor had applied a dressing to Charlie's hip, and was pulling off his gloves. One of the nurses pulled the sheet up to his brother's chest and removed the brakes from the gurney, preparing to move Charlie.

"Your brother is going up to surgery now to have the bullet removed. The waiting room is on the fifth floor, south end. It'll be a while."

"Charlie?" Don squeezed his hand to get his attention. "They're taking you up to surgery now. I'll be waiting for you when you come out, okay?"

"Don... sorry." His brother's eyes slipped closed as he once again lost consciousness and was swiftly taken from the room.

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

_TBC_

_Please tell me what you thought._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for the awesome reviews guys! You totally blew me away. It took six months to write this monster and I'm very glad to hear you're enjoying it._

Thanks again to **Elise** for helping with this.

**Inner Demons**

**Part 2/6**

by Megan

_Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved._

_-Helen Keller (1880-1968)_

Five. It had been five hours since Don had last seen Charlie, and it felt like an eternity. The last images of Charlie had been of him scared and covered in blood. Don knew those images would haunt his nightmares for years to come. He was an FBI agent. It was his job to protect those around him. How was he supposed to adequately do his job now that he had failed his own little brother?

Four. Four hours had passed since his dad had arrived, frantically demanding to know what had happened while at the same time trying to enter the off limits surgical area. Don hadn't seen his dad this anxious in a long, long time. Hugging his father tightly, both of them allowed their tears to fall.

Three. Terry and David had left three hours ago to wrap up the kidnapping case. Quietly squeezing Don's arm, Terry told him she'd be back as soon as possible.

Two. It was only two hours ago he realized he was wearing Charlie's blood. A nurse had given him a green scrub top to wear. It didn't help. He could still smell the sharp metallic tang of blood and could see it on his hands. He had clenched his teeth as his stomach churned, bile rising in the back of his throat.

One. He'd finally stopped pacing one hour ago and joined his dad in the hard plastic chairs. He had put his hands between his knees and squeezed, trying to control to tremors that wouldn't seem to stop. What was taking so long?

Now, he sat. His anxious brown eyes were glued to the set of double doors. He said every prayer he could think of. Before he realized his prayers had been answered, the doors swung open and a short, balding man strode into the room.

"You're here for Charles Eppes?" he addressed them. There was no one else in the waiting room given the late hour.

"How's Charlie?" Alan demanded, immediately on his feet.

"He came through the surgery well and is now in recovery. If all goes well, he'll be in a room on the orthopedic floor within the hour."

"Can we see him?" Alan anxiously asked.

"Not yet. Once he's in a regular room, I'll let you in to see him for a few minutes, but only a few minutes. Visiting hours are over, but I'll make an exception for you. Now, I wanted to discuss Dr. Eppes' -"

"Charlie," Don interrupted him.

"I wanted to discuss Charlie's injury with the two of you. If you'd follow me, please."

Exchanging looks, Don and Alan followed the doctor through the double doors to an empty exam room. They watched the doctor as he flipped on a light board with an x-ray clipped to it. Don was no doctor, but knew what he was looking at was bad. He could clearly see the fracture lines where the bone should have been solid, and the bullet embedded in the bone.

"This is an x-ray of Charlie's hip before the procedure. As you can see, the bullet entered one inch below the ilium, or hip, at a downward trajectory where it impacted the greater trochanter slightly below the joint. In other words, the bullet has fractured the very top of Charlie's femur just outside of where the femur meets the hip. He was lucky the joint itself wasn't involved. We removed the bullet and repaired the trochanter with a series of pins and a plate. I know it sounds bad, but with physical therapy he should make a complete recovery."

"Are you sure? I mean look at the damage there!" Alan stated.

The doctor suppressed a smile. "This is a very common procedure, Mr. Eppes. Granted, this procedure is usually performed on an elderly person that has fallen and broken a hip. This is the first gun shot related hip fracture I've repaired. Due to the fracture being caused by a gun shot wound, there was also damage to the muscles and surrounding tissues which will slow his recovery slightly."

Alan was having a hard time taking this all in. "You're telling me, after all this, my son will be able to walk normally?"

"Provided there are no complications, there's no reason your son shouldn't be able to return to his pre-injury state eventually, although he may have a limp. Charlie is young and in excellent physical condition. I wouldn't recommend he take up any rigorous sports, though."

Don's breath rushed from his lungs as he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Charlie was going to be okay.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I take it you're Don and Alan Eppes?" a kindly, older nurse asked.

"That's right," Don answered her.

"Dr. Haberson has allowed ten minutes of visiting time for the two of you. We just got Dr. Eppes settled in his room, so when you're ready you can follow me."

Don and Alan followed the nurse down the darkened halls to a private room at the end of the hall. Glancing at the clock, Don noted it was now past midnight. He couldn't remember seeing a hospital so quiet. The nurse stopped outside Charlie's room and addressed them.

"Charlie was conscious when he returned from the recovery room, but because of the nature of his injury, he is on a morphine pump. Don't be surprised if he is asleep and stays that way for the next few hours. His body's been through a lot. I'll be back in ten minutes to retrieve you."

Alan was the first to enter the room. Despite the darkness of the hallway, the bright overhead lights in Charlie's room were turned on, fully illuminating everything. Even the sights he and Don didn't want to see.

Two IV's dripped fluid into the backs of Charlie's hands; one fluid was red, the other clear. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his upper right arm, and a clip was on his index finger. Both were attached to a small machine sitting beside the bed. The button for the morphine pump was clipped to the front of Charlie's gown. Don didn't want to think about what the other tubes were for.

"Oh, Charlie. What have you done to yourself?" Alan quietly asked him, while laying a hand on his forearm. Don had explained everything to him. He just couldn't believe Charlie had done what Don said. He had no trouble believing Charlie would go out of his way to help someone; he did it all the time. Jumping in front of a bullet was a whole new ball game.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Two days later found Charlie sitting up in the bed, pushing his food lazily around the tray, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his hip. Food in general was unappealing to him, and hospital food even more so. He picked at what was supposed to be beef stew, certain whatever gruel they were feeding him wouldn't even pass as canned dog food. Just thinking about the food made his stomach clench.

When he had initially awoken, his father and Don had been there. To say he was surprised to see Don smiling was an understatement. Don had explicitly told him to stay in the car and he had not listened. As a result, he had been injured. Don had patiently explained to him he had saved the little girl's life, a fact his drugged mind had forgotten, and was not mad in any way. Just the realization that he had not let his older brother down allowed him to rest peacefully.

After that, the pain had started to get to him. He'd never had surgery before, but hadn't expected the pain to be so bad, or the morphine to feel so good. They had taken away his pain pump earlier in the day, telling him it was time he switch to oral or injectable pain medications. He didn't care. After two doses of the morphine, he'd felt foggy and was unable to concentrate, and that scared him. On the other hand, if he didn't take the morphine, the pain interfered with his concentration as well.

"Hey, Charlie," Don quietly called as he entered the room. "You're looking good, Buddy."

"Glad you think so," he morosely replied. In frustration, he threw the fork down and pushed the tray aside.

Don pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. "You know, they'll never let you out of here if you don't start eating."

"Would you eat this?"

Don grimaced. "Probably not, but that's not the point. I know that when you're in pain, food is less than appealing."

Charlie sharply glanced at him, his brown eyes staring hard into Don's. How did he know?

"I've been hurt on the job, Charlie. I know. Your nurse also stopped me in the hall on the way in. She said when she took away the morphine pump today it was almost full. She also said you haven't asked for any painkillers since. What gives, Charlie?"

"I don't know, Don. I just..."

"No. Don't give me that. You have a reason for doing everything. I also hear the physical therapist isn't very happy with you. You know they want you up and walking as soon as possible, but if you're not going to take the painkillers they will get you up without them. No one wants to have to do that."

Charlie mulled it over before answering. Lying was something he just couldn't do, and Don wouldn't leave it be without a satisfactory answer.

"It makes me feel weird."

"Weird? Like how."

"Foggy. I can't think, do math, function..."

"Charlie, you're in the hospital. You're not supposed to do math; you're here to recuperate!" Frustration was evident in his voice.

"Don, you know how important math is to me. Not being able to think scares me."

"It's what narcotics do, Charlie. It's part of the reason they're so addictive. What about something not as strong as morphine?" Don leaned forward, as though his proximity to Charlie could help him see reason.

"I hadn't thought about that." Charlie's gaze looked inwards, and his eyebrows raised as he considered that option.

"I didn't think so. I'll go talk to the nurse and see what I can do, all right?"

"Yeah, sure."

It was only minutes later when Don returned with the nurse in tow. Charlie surmised that she must have been waiting in the hall for Don to give her the go ahead.

She handed him a paper cup containing one white pill, explaining what it was. "This is Percocet, Charlie. It is still a narcotic, but not as powerful as morphine. Hopefully, this won't cloud your thinking as much, but will still take care of the pain. The dose can still be cut in half if you feel this is too strong, all right?"

He nodded his acquiescence and swallowed the pill. He was just glad she didn't give him the 'pain control is important, we don't tolerate macho behaviour here' speech like the previous nurse had. Granted, it was an effective way to get the point across, but macho was not what he was trying to be.

"I'd also highly recommend you eat along with this pill or you'll be throwing up within the hour. Pain killers are very hard on the stomach." As though reading his mind, she glanced at Don. "The cafeteria has a variety of soup available. I can see getting him to eat this might be a lost cause."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I'll be back shortly, okay Charlie?"

"I'll be here."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Charlie had been presently surprised by the Percocet. Not only did it dull the pain to a minor throb, it also didn't cloud his mind like the morphine. He could still do his math while at the same time move from his bed to the chair with only some discomfort. The drug also evoked a feeling he couldn't put his finger on. He felt almost peaceful, which was an emotion he was seriously lacking as of late.

Only one day had passed since Don had given him the pain killer lecture, but it felt like weeks ago. With his appetite slowly coming back and sleeping patterns returning to normal, he was told it was only a matter of days before he'd be released into his father's care. The physical therapist had even had him use a walker to walk across the room.

He'd sweet talked Larry into bringing his laptop so he could still work, and Amita would stop by to update him on how his students were doing in his absence.

A dull throb in his hip was starting to make itself known. Looking at the clock, he realized it was just about time for his next dose of Percocet. After pressing the call bell, he patiently waited for it to arrive.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_TBC_

_Constructive comments greatly appreciated!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you everyone for the reviews! They really make my day. _

**A/N: **Just keep in mind that since this chapter was written before the start of season two, so some of the information may be inaccurate because it hadn't occurred on the show yet.

**Inner Demons**

**Part 3/6**

by Megan

_Actions lie louder than words._

_-Carolyn Wells_

"Hey Don, how's Charlie doing?" Terry asked from her desk, looking up from her paperwork.

"Oh, he's doing great. If all goes well with the physical therapist today, he'll be home by supper time." Don was glad Charlie was doing so well. Everyone had been surprised at how quickly he'd started to recover once he'd agreed to take the pain killers.

"Already? Isn't it kind of soon?"

"Nah, the doctor tells me most people are only in the hospital a few days after this type of surgery. Charlie just had to stay a little longer because of the extra damage done by the bullet."

"How's your dad doing with all of this? It must have been a shock to hear Charlie had been shot. Especially considering you're the one with the dangerous job."

Don winced. This was still a sore subject. His dad had told him exactly what he thought about Charlie being taken to crime scenes. Alan had been immensely relieved to hear Charlie would be all right, and was proud of his son for saving the life of a young child. That didn't mean he wasn't angry Charlie had been put into that situation in the first place. When he said he'd be all right with Charlie going out and doing 'slightly dangerous things', this wasn't what he had meant.

"Dad's doing all right, but I think he's going to need some time to forgive me. I mean, I can't say as I blame him."

"You think this was your fault?"

"If I hadn't taken him, then this wouldn't have happened."

"You're right, it wouldn't have. Instead, a little girl would be dead. You had no way of knowing this was going to happen. What's important is that Charlie is going to be fine. Have you talked to him about it yet?"

Don's eyes focused on a point across the room as he thought about his brother's out of character behaviour.

"He hasn't really said much to me much past commenting on the hospital food. He's been a little withdrawn, but he is getting over a major injury. I'm heading home for dinner tonight so maybe I'll get a chance to talk with him then."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As the weeks passed, Charlie progressed from using crutches to a cane. The physical therapist was starting to talk about Charlie's returning to work in the near future. Unfortunately, Don hadn't had a chance to talk with Charlie. He'd cleverly side step the conversation every time. Charlie might not be good at lying, but he was a pro at avoiding important conversations.

Don arrived at the house after a long day at work to find Charlie headed from the living room to the kitchen with his stilted gait. It was odd seeing someone so young relying on a cane to get around. Trying to quell the guilt he was starting to feel, he greeted his brother.

"Hey, Charlie."

"Don. Are you staying for supper? I think there's enough left over stew if you're interested."

"Sure, sounds great, Charlie," Don replied, following his brother into the kitchen.

He watched with interest as Charlie reached for a prescription pill bottle on the counter and expertly popped the top off, pouring two pills into his hand. He was dismayed to realize it was Percocet.

"You're still taking that?'

"Hm?" Charlie looked up at him, confusion on his face.

"The Percocet. Haven't you been on it for a long time now?"

"It's none of your business, Don," Charlie nonchalantly stated.

"None of my business? Charlie, I'm just concerned about you is all. You never talk to me anymore. How am I supposed to know how you're doing?'

Charlie sighed before answering with a less than amused tone. "The pain has been bad, all right? The doctor said it might be because of all the damage so he's letting me stay on this a little longer."

"Okay. Was that so hard?"

Charlie ignored the question. "I'll be in the living room preparing a lecture. Dad should be home in an hour to help prepare supper."

"Preparing a lecture? You're not going back to work already, are you?" Don didn't want to see his brother's recovery hindered by the stress of returning to work.

"It's been five weeks. The physical therapist said at six weeks he'd see how I was doing and consider letting me return to work." With that, he limped into the living room leaving a confused Don standing in the kitchen.

Curious, Don reached for the pill bottle, reading the label. _Take one tablet every 6 hours as directed by a physician._ He felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. Maybe it was nothing. Charlie had said he was in pain. It still didn't stop the suspicious part of his mind from kicking into gear.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sitting in his SUV outside the doctor's office, Don patiently waited for his brother. Charlie had a follow up appointment at two, and had asked Don to pick him up after. Two weeks had passed, and Charlie had returned to teaching. The physical therapist had finished up with Charlie, telling him to still be careful and walk with the cane when necessary. Don hadn't seen him use the cane at all in the past week. In fact, Charlie had been pleasant and even talked to him occasionally. Maybe things were getting back to normal after all.

He watched with worry as Charlie emerged from the building wearing a less than thrilled expression on his face. He limped down the steps towards Don, clutching a single sheet of paper in one of his hands.

"Is everything all right, Buddy?" he asked once Charlie was seated in the passenger seat.

"Fine," Charlie snapped. No further explanation was forthcoming, so Don decided to leave it for now.

Charlie stared at the piece of paper in his hand, and tried to tamp down the disappointment flooding him. A prescription for an anti-inflammatory. A lousy anti-inflammatory with no narcotics what so ever. The doctor had been firm. Charlie had stayed on the Percocet for longer than needed and he was not going to prescribe any more.

"We need to stop at the pharmacy on the way home, Don," he morosely stated. Looking out the window, he tried to ignore Don's concerned glances at him.

"Sure, Charlie. No problem."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

That night, Charlie lay in his completely darkened room staring at the ceiling. In the back of his mind, he knew something was wrong. His stomach roiled, and it took all his will power not to give in to his stomach's demand and run for the toilet. Sour bile burned the back of his throat, and the room spun wildly around him.

He pulled the blankets tighter around himself to ward off the cold seeping into his bones. The fact it was a balmy summer night didn't register with his hazy mind. All he knew was that he was cold and not feeling well. Stray thoughts, and bits and pieces of the days events came and went. It was like watching a movie that overlapped tracks and distorted the sound.

By the time morning rolled around, he'd only gotten two hours of sleep. Much to his disappointment, he'd lost the battle against the nausea and had barely made it to the bathroom in time. The movement hadn't done much for his hip or aching muscles, but the throwing up did help the nausea somewhat. He hoped he wasn't getting the flu. The timing couldn't be worse.

After standing in the shower for almost half an hour, he had started to feel better. The tension had fled his muscles, and the water washed the sticky sweat off his skin. He still felt tired, but his mind was clearer.

The smell of pancakes wafting into his room was doing nothing for his stomach, but he knew if he didn't make an appearance at some point his dad would come looking for him.

Pulling on the first set of clean clothes he could find, he ran a comb through his hair without bothering to put any sort of product in it, and took one last glance at himself in the mirror. The slightly pale tinge to his skin made the dark smudges under his eyes stand out. Shrugging, he gingerly made his way downstairs. He'd looked worse than this weeks earlier.

"Good morning, Charlie. How many pancakes would you like?" Alan asked without turning around.

"Thanks, but I'm actually not very hungry," he replied, swallowing convulsively.

Hearing the exhaustion in his son's voice, Alan turned around and got his first good look at Charlie.

"Are you, all right? You don't look very good, Charlie."

"I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Uh... dog. The neighbour's dog wouldn't stop barking."

Alan skeptically eyed him. "Uh huh. I didn't hear any dog."

"Well, maybe it's because our windows face different directions. I've gotta get ready, Dad."

Alan worriedly watched him leave, not buying a word of what had come out of Charlie's mouth. The speech he had given Don came sailing back into his mind. Even though sometimes Charlie didn't act it, he was a responsible adult and could take care of himself. That didn't mean his paternal instincts couldn't kick into gear.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Charles, I was wondering if I could borrow your expertise for a few minutes? If it's not too inconvenient of course. Charles?"

Since Larry had entered the classroom, Charlie had yet to acknowledge his presence. He was hunched over, appearing to be deeply engrossed in the papers he was grading. What disturbed Larry was the fact Charlie's eyes weren't moving. He just stared at a point in the middle of the page.

"Charles," he again prodded as he went over and touched the younger man's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

He wasn't prepared for the anger in Charlie's eyes when he abruptly turned and pinned him with his gaze.

"What, Larry! Can't you see I'm trying to concentrate?" he all but yelled.

The surprised and hurt look that crossed Larry's features immediately cooled his temper.

"Sorry, Larry. I'm a little stressed right now. What do you need?"

"No, it's all right. I'll come back. I can see that you're otherwise engaged." Larry backed towards the door as he said this, and was out the door before Charlie could call him back.

Larry was deeply disturbed by Charlie's behaviour. Amita had told him Charlie had been snappish all day, even telling a student stupid questions had no place in the classroom. This was the third day Charlie's behaviour had been like this, and he didn't like it. Not at all. If Charlie wasn't going to talk with him, he'd have to go to the next best person.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Larry!" Don couldn't keep the surprise off his face. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?" The surprise quickly turned to a frown.

"Actually, it isn't. Is there someplace private we can talk?" Larry asked as he nervously intertwined his fingers.

"Uh, sure." Don directed him to the conference room and closed the door. Larry had never come to the FBI office. In fact, Larry had never sought him out before.

"Have you noticed anything unusual about Charles' behaviour as of late?"

"Unusual? He's been kind of quiet, but he seems okay. Mind you, I haven't seen him in three days. I've been on a stakeout. What's going on?" Leaning against a desk, Don crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Well, I'm not sure where to start. I've never seen Charles behave like this."

Don was truly puzzled now. What could possibly have happened in three days?

"Amita and I have both noticed he is extremely short with people, snappish and distracted. Also, there's the fact he looks like he hasn't slept in days, and I don't think he's eating. He's turned down every lunch invitation, and I never see him with any food throughout the day. I'm afraid something might be seriously wrong."

"Have you tried asking him?"

"I have. Today's conversation, or lack thereof, was extremely off-putting. That's why I came to you."

"Thanks, Larry. I'll see what I can do, all right?" He and Charlie would be having a talk when he got home.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_TBC_

_Any feedback is greatly appreciated! _


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks again for taking the time to review, everyone. Your enthusiasm is awesome!_

**Without an account**: Don't apologize, I appreciate your honesty. I've always been more of a technical than emotional writer, and I did fear that this would happen. I will try and take your advice. I will be revising the remaining chapters to see if I can't add a bit more character introspection. There won't be a huge difference, but hopefully it will be better. Also, this is in fact a Charlie story, but it's told from Don's POV. I've been an h/c fanatic for years, and always find the stories more enjoyable from the 'comforters' POV rather than the 'comfortee'. Thanks for your feedback.

_Words in italics _indicate a characters thoughts.

**Inner Demons**

**Part 4/6**

by Megan

_The character of every act depends upon the circumstances in which it is done._

_-Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. (1841 - 1935)_

"Hey Dad," Don called as he slammed the front door behind him and walked into the kitchen. His worry for Charlie had kept him from stopping off at his apartment to change and grab a bite to eat after work, which was unusual because after an extended stake out all he wanted to do was crash. He could still hear Larry's words clearly in his head and knew he wouldn't rest until he'd had a talk with his brother.

"Donny! Well this is certainly a surprise. What brings you by?"

"I'm here to see Charlie, is he around?"

Alan's smile faded at the mention of Charlie. "He's out in the garage."

"Oh no. He's not working on that P thing again, is he?" Don hesitantly asked as memories of Charlie's retreat into the world of P vs NP came back to him.

Twice, while trying to cope with an emotional trauma, his brother had become obsessed with P vs NP, and twice he'd had to pull him out to make him see there was a world beyond the numbers where sometimes bad things happened, and people got hurt. He'd love to shield his brother from the hurts in the world, but knew to do that he'd also take away that which made him human: the chance to experience emotions and grow as a person.

"No. Now that you mention it, I haven't seen him working on any math problems recently. Would you do me a favour?"

Don shrugged, relief lightening his mood somewhat. "Sure."

"Take this out to him." Alan passed him a sandwich. "He's not eating."

"Of course he's not," Don muttered to himself as he grabbed the sandwich and started towards the garage.

"Oh, and Don?" his father called to him, while motioning for him to come back to the counter. "I realize now this is really bad timing, but Art Stanley and I will be leaving tomorrow for a four day trip. It's been planned for months now and I can't back out."

"Really? What kind of trip?"

"Well, it's more of a road trip than anything. But with Charlie behaving the way he is, I don't think..."

"No, Dad. Just... don't do that. You get time for yourself. Charlie is almost thirty and doesn't need to be baby sat." Don glanced down at the sandwich in his hand. "Usually. Listen. You said yourself he's a grown man. I'll be here to check in on him. You go and enjoy yourself, okay?" Don could see his dad was excited about the trip, and wasn't going to allow Charlie's selfish behaviour to get in the way.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. You will keep an eye on him, though?"

"Of course."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Charlie stood in the garage in front of one of his beloved blackboards. His face was creased in one part concentration, the other part pain. He'd started the equation on the board four days ago, and had only stopped because his dad had hauled him off to bed. Now, no matter how hard he thought about the problem, the numbers wouldn't come.

The last three days had been awful. If he wasn't nauseous and throwing up, the aching in his muscles made trying to stand in front of a blackboard, or in front of a class, a lesson in torture. If not for the increasing pain in his hip, he'd have thought he had the flu.

His thoughts strayed from the black board to the disastrous day at Cal Sci. His harsh words directed at the student during his lecture, and then at Larry, rang in his mind. He'd felt horrible after, but apologizing wasn't something he'd felt like doing at the time. Not once could he remember feeling like this. The smallest annoyance sent him off the deep end and it was starting to scare him. He was supposed to be in control of things like this. Everything happened for a reason, followed a logical pattern. Everything except this. It was possible he'd returned to teaching too soon. Maybe that was the cause. Asking for a few more days off probably wouldn't hurt.

A loud knocking on the door startled him, causing him to jump slightly and jar his sore hip.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Charlie? I know you're in there. Open the door." No response. "Charlie! Open this damn door before I break it down!" _Enough with the childish behaviour,_ he thought to himself.

As he was about to yell again, he heard the lock slide followed by shuffling sounds as Charlie walked away from the door. Grumbling about younger brothers always having to be difficult, Don opened the door and entered.

"Charlie, what the hell's the matter with you?" Don demanded, his brother's haggard appearance not getting past him and tempering his anger somewhat.

"Nothing." He pointedly ignored Don and stared at his black board again.

"Nothing? Do you think I'm an idiot? Dad is worried about you, Larry, and now I am too."

"Larry?"

"Yeah, Larry. He came to see me at work today because of your behaviour these past few days. Looking at you now, I can understand why he was so concerned."

"It wasn't any of his business."

"Yeah, I can see how worrying about his friend is none of his business. He told me you've been short with people-"

"He shouldn't have told you anything! I have it under control." Charlie threw down the chalk he'd been holding, his anger once again clouding his common sense. Feeling an uncontrollable urge to lash out at Don, who he knew deep down was only trying to help him, he made a move to leave. The first step caused his hip to flare.

Don didn't miss the flash on pain on his brother's face, or the way he favoured his leg. Charlie had been making excellent progress. Even walking without a cane. Why was his leg bothering him now?

"If things were under control, Charlie, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Don growled. "Come on, Buddy. Talk to me."

"Don't call me that!" Charlie snapped, all attempts to conceal his anger forgotten in a haze of pain. "I'm your brother, not your friend."

Don recoiled as though he'd been slapped, Charlie's words striking a chord. What was worse, Charlie's face showed no remorse. Angry brown eyes stared into Don's, jaw set. Don felt his own anger spike.

"How dare you, Charlie! I've done nothing but help you and this is how you treat me?"

"Help? The only thing you did was help me into the line of fire!"

Don stiffened, silence blanketing the room as Charlie's hurtful words hit home, slicing through his heart like a hot knife through butter. Normally Charlie's angry words during fights didn't affect him like this, but the truth behind them this time both angered and saddened him. _Charlie's injury shouldn't have happened, but he doesn't have to treat me like crap._

Pulling himself together before he said something he'd really regret, he replied using the only ammunition he had left to make Charlie see how bad his behaviour had become. "Fine. You're so damned good at taking care of yourself? Here's your sandwich. I'd imagine it's the first food you've seen in three days."

Don tossed the sandwich onto a small table by the door and left before the fight progressed so far he couldn't undo the damage.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The FBI office was quiet for once, allowing Don the opportunity to speak with Mrs. Culverson, the mother of the girl that had been kidnapped. In order to type up his final report and satisfy Merrick, he'd needed her to clarify a few things.

"And how much time had passed before you realized your daughter was missing?"

"It was only a few minutes. I don't usually talk on my cell phone, but my husband needed to discuss something with me. I was distracted for such a short period of time."

"The man that took her. You hadn't seen him anywhere before?"

Don patiently listened to all her answers, jotting down notes at the appropriate times. Glancing up, he saw the familiar slight figure of his brother limping down the hall, cane in hand. He groaned inwardly, figuring with Charlie's mood he'd come to argue about something. The last thing he needed right now was a fight with Charlie. Especially in front of his colleagues and Mrs. Culverson. Of course, Charlie continued right on over and interrupted his interview.

"Uh, Don? Could I speak to you for a minute?" he quietly asked, only glancing at Mrs. Culverson.

Don glared at Charlie, before smiling apologetically at the woman he'd been interviewing and took Charlie off to the side.

"Charlie, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you something," he replied, looking everywhere but at Don.

When no further explanation was put forth, Don prodded him on. "Yeah? And?"

"Well, Dad's gonna be out tonight, and I wanted to know if you could stop by the house after dinner so I could speak with you about yesterday."

"Charlie, you came all the way down here to ask me this? How did you get here?" Don's curiosity was piqued. The last thing he ever expected after the fight yesterday was an open invitation to talk. Neither he nor Charlie were good when it came to communicating their feelings. In fact, he avoided talking about them or deflected emotionally charged conversations with a joke. If Charlie wanted to talk, it must be important and he wasn't going to turn it down.

"Dad drove me. He needed to pick up a few things before his trip and I convinced him to stop by. Well?"

Before Don could answer, they were interrupted by Mrs. Culverson.

"Excuse me," she said, walking over to them. "Did you say his name was Charlie? Is this Charlie Eppes?"

Don's eyes widened. With Charlie's mood as of late, he could only hope his brother wouldn't say anything stupid. "That's right. Diane Culverson, this is my brother Charlie. Charlie, this is Diane Culverson. She's the mother of the girl you saved."

Charlie smiled, unsure of what to say. In all his dealings with people, he'd never encountered a situation quite like this before and didn't know what he was supposed to say, or what this lady wanted to hear. This was Don's area, not his.

"I was hoping I'd get the chance to meet you in person, Charlie. There's no way I could ever adequately express my gratitude for what you did. It is the single most selfless act anyone could perform, and because of you, my little girl is with us today. Thank you." Diane finished thanking Charlie by giving him a gentle hug.

Feeling even more awkward, Charlie simply hugged her back and asked the first question to come to mind. "How's your daughter doing?"

"She's slowly coming to terms with what happened. It'll take time, though."

Noticing his brother's stiff posture and sensing his discomfort, Don intervened. "Mrs. Culverson, if you could excuse us for a few minutes? I'll be right with you."

She gave Charlie one last smile before going back to her seat, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Diane's words had felt good. Really good.

"I think I'm starting to understand why you like your job so much. You really do make a difference in people's lives, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do, Charlie. Listen, I've got to get back. I'll see you tonight, all right?" he said, giving Charlie a quick pat on the back.

"Yeah, sure." Charlie gave him a small smile before leaving.

Don watched Charlie go, a puzzled expression on his face. _Would the real Charlie Eppes please step forward_, he thought to himself. He had been expecting a lot of things from Charlie, but a smile wasn't one of them. Perhaps things weren't as bad as he was assuming.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Charlie felt good about himself. He'd never had a thank you as heartfelt and deep as Mrs. Culverson had given him. Given what he knew now, if he could go back to the day of his injury, he'd do it over again. Sure, he made a difference in people's lives everyday while teaching, but knowing that he'd been responsible for saving a life when he had almost been killed himself went far and beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

Sitting in the kitchen listening to the crickets outside, he marveled at how lonely the house felt with his father away. He contemplated what to have for dinner , but minutes later decided not to eat as his stomach still wasn't very agreeable to the idea of food. Instead, he sat deep in thought, cataloguing and analyzing the things he'd been experiencing.

It was almost like he had a really bad version of the flu. He had chills and shakes, nausea, muscle aches, even a runny nose. The only thing that didn't fit was the lack of a fever, and the moodiness. He knew his behaviour was wrong, but he couldn't help it. The smallest things would cause him to snap, and he couldn't do a thing about it. _Maybe it's just the pain,_ he thought to himself. _Frustration. _It all started when-

His line of thought was interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone. Lacking the motivation to answer it, he let the machine get it. He wasn't really surprised when Don's grainy voice emerged from the speaker; just disappointed.

"Hey, Charlie, you there? All right, I guess you're just away from the phone. Listen, Buddy, something's come up and I'm gonna have to pull an all nighter. I'm really sorry about this. I'll call you tomorrow."

Charlie sighed. He should have expected that. Not that he was too upset; he wasn't really looking forward to the conversation.

Going back to his previous train of thought, Charlie realized all his symptoms had started right after his doctor had pulled the Percocet prescription. Without the drug, he was no longer able to focus long enough to do his math, or teach. His mood had been all over the place, and he could feel his relationships with family and friends starting to break under the pressure. Then there were the physical problems. In other words, he was no longer able to function in his world.

He knew what he had to do. It was the only thing that made sense.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_TBC_

_Please tell me what you thought._


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you everyone for your continuing support! Your reviews are a lot of fun to read._

Without an account:_Thanks for following up!_

_Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart._

_**-Lois McMaster Bujold**_

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing Los Angeles in a warm, pink glow. Don drove down the familiar and nearly deserted streets to his apartment. He had planned on stopping by to see Charlie, but he'd finished work earlier than expected and didn't want to disturb his brother if he was actually sleeping. Lord knows he could use it.

Parking in his designated place, he stepped out and took a moment to enjoy the cool morning air. Last night had been tough. His team had been tracking the movements of a bank robber with a propensity for killing bank tellers that gave him resistance. A hot tip had come in as to his location just before dinner time, so he and his team had geared up and moved out.

Somehow, the suspect had found out they were coming and had fled with all the cash he'd stolen. The Assistant Director had then insisted everyone get a few hours rest and approach the case with a clean slate later the next day. That was easier said than done as Don could still feel the anger and adrenaline surging through him. Rest was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Once at his apartment, Don tried to slide the key into the lock, only to have the door creak open before the key was fully inserted. With a jolt, he realized the door hadn't even been latched. Fearing the worst, he cautiously drew his gun and entered the apartment with instincts on high alert.

Looking to his left, he saw a dark figure slumped on the couch in front of the TV and immediately relaxed. Charlie.

"Charlie!" he barked as he quickly holstered his weapon. "What the hell are you doing here? How'd you get in?"

"You gave Dad a key two months ago," he quietly answered.

Something in Charlie's tone put Don on edge. He sounded drained. No. Defeated.

"Charlie?" he asked in a softer tone. "What's going on?" He slowly walked over to the couch and stood a few feet from Charlie's left, taken aback by his appearance. "Did something happen to Dad?"

His hair was uncombed, and for the most part falling in front of his eyes as his head was bowed. Don could see the pale tinge to his skin, and the way his hands trembled. He was even wearing the same clothes he had been yesterday. It was obvious something big had happened and Don temporarily forgot his anger.

There was a moment of silence before his brother answered, a barely detectable hitch in his breathing. "I almost did it."

"Almost did what?" Don quietly coaxed, afraid to ask.

Without answering, Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. Wincing slightly, he leaned forward and set it on the table.

Curious, Don glanced at Charlie's carefully composed face before reaching forward and grabbing the envelope. His breath caught in his throat when he realized what the envelope contained. Money. A lot of money.

"Charlie, what are you doing with all this money? Charlie, talk to me." Don was scared now, and making no attempt to hide it.

Charlie's neutral expression faded slightly. "Last night. I... I needed something. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't think I had a choice. It was only logical." His voice was wavering like it usually did when he was stressed over something.

"What was only logical, Charlie?" He walked around the table and sat beside his brother, noticing his eyes starting to tear.

"When the doctor told me no more, I got sick. I still am and I can't... I can't function. I'm hurting the people I love. I can't do what I love. I needed it, you see?" he forcefully intoned, still not making eye contact.

"What did you need, Charlie?" Don had a pretty good idea now, but was refusing to believe it. His little brother would never do that. His little brother that loved knowledge and logic and abhorred any sort of self destructive behaviour because it didn't make sense would never do that. Never.

For the first time, Charlie turned his head and looked directly at him. The sadness, pain and confusion in his eyes blatantly obvious. "I was going to buy drugs, Don. But... but I couldn't. All I could think was how disappointed you and Dad would be. The thought of letting either of you down..." his voice trailed off as the tears started to flow.

"My god, Charlie." Don reached over and pulled his brother to him, wrapping his arms tightly around him and feeling warm tears soaking into his shirt. He couldn't help but notice how small Charlie felt in his arms. His baggy clothes had obviously been hiding a loss of weight he could ill-afford to lose.

The anger he was feeling was indescribable. His brother had been about to do the stupidest thing in his entire life. How long had Charlie been considering obtaining drugs illegally? Charlie had people he could talk to. He knew that, so why the hell didn't he ask for help? The relationship with his brother was strained, but he never thought it was so bad that Charlie would rather risk destroying his life than talk to him.

He shuddered to think what could have happened. At its best, but still not good, Charlie would have become a drug addict, illegally using street drugs for years. At its worst, Charlie would end up in jail, or worse, in the morgue, the victim of an overdose. Don knew exactly the type of world drug addicts and dealers lived in, and the thought of his little brother becoming involved in it scared and angered him. Especially when it so easily could have been prevented.

Don did not like the flood of images in his mind and pulled back. Placing his hands on Charlie's shoulders, he turned him so they were face to face. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his anger bubbling near the surface now. Not only his anger at Charlie, but from the disastrous night before. "You could have gotten yourself killed! Why the hell didn't you come to Dad or I? Or Larry? We could have helped you, damn it!"

"I didn't think-"

"Damn right you didn't think!" He jumped off the couch and angrily paced the room. "Why, Charlie? Why didn't you ask for help?"

"I didn't think it was that bad."

"You were about to buy narcotics, Charlie! Illegally! How could you not think there was a problem?" Don incredulously asked.

"I thought it was the flu. The pain got so bad, and the doctor wouldn't help. He gave me a weaker prescription."

"Did it help? The weaker drug?"

Charlie looked at his feet.

"You didn't take it, did you. Did you?" Don implored.

Charlie didn't look up.

"I'll bet you also didn't tell the doctor you were doubling your Percocet dose either." Don made no effort to hide the disappointment on his face.

His brother glanced up, surprise on his face. "How did you know?"

"It's what I do, Charlie." One of his brother's earlier statements came back to him, Charlie's naiveté showing through. "You're going through withdrawal, Charlie. It's not the flu. I'm willing to bet not only is the withdrawal causing the pain to be more severe, but your expectations as well."

Charlie looked inward, mulling over his brother's statement. If possible, he looked even more broken. "You're telling me, I've been in pain and about to break the law because of something that's all in my head?"

Charlie looked everywhere but at Don. He knew what he'd see on his face. Anger. Frustration. Possibly guilt. But worst of all, pity. Pity because he'd let the situation get out of hand. For years, he'd never understood why people would break the law and destroy their lives. Especially when the problem's solution simply involved speaking with a family member, friend, doctor, counselor. Any number of people. Well, now he understood.

All he'd ever wanted was to be seen as a grown-up. He lived with his dad in his childhood home, sought his brother's approval with each FBI case he assisted on, and was blessed or cursed depending on how one looked at it with a youthful appearance. He wanted to be seen as someone capable of taking care of themselves. He could take care of himself all right. He would have taken care of himself right into jail.

Now, he was being told there was nothing wrong with him? That his imagination had essentially run wild?

"I don't doubt for a minute you're in pain, Charlie. I think you let it get out of control. If you had just swallowed your pride and come to one of us, or told your doctor, none of this would have happened!" Don stated, almost echoing his thoughts exactly. "It shouldn't have happened at all."

That last part was said so quietly Charlie almost missed it. "Don?"

"You never should have been there, Charlie. I should have let you out of the car a block away and-"

"And lose precious time?"

"It's my fault you got hurt, Charlie. If that had never happened, then you wouldn't be where you are now."

Charlie didn't realize Don had felt that way. His angry words from the day before came back to him in a rush and he felt his stomach drop even further. He hadn't thought that would even be possible. "Please, Don. Don't say that. I didn't mean what I said. I never blamed you."

Wishing he could give Don a bit more reassurance than the words could, he stood, but at the same time a sharp pain tore through his hip taking his breath away. With his vision clouding, he swayed dangerously on his feet.

"Charlie!"

He could feel Don's hands grabbing at him before he planted himself face first into the carpet. "I'm all right, Don."

"No, Charlie. You are definitely not all right. Has the pain been this bad the whole time?"

Grabbing onto Don's shoulder for balance, Charlie righted himself before answering. "This is the worst it's been. I left my cane in the cab and I guess I kind of stiffened up from sitting here so long. I just need to sit down."

Don's arm around his waist tightened slightly as he moved back towards the couch.

"I'm taking you to the doctor's, Charlie. Don't sit down or I might not be able to get you up. What about some aspirin before we leave to take the edge off?"

Not only was his stomach not about to accept anything in it, but he seriously doubted it would do anything. "Not unless you want it to make a reappearance in your truck," he jokingly replied.

"When was the last time you ate?" Don realized with a sickening feeling that not only had Charlie been losing weight because he felt too sick to eat, but any pain medication he might have tried wouldn't have stayed down long enough to give him any relief.

"There's a difference between eating something and keeping it down," Charlie stated.

"In other words, it's been too long," Don answered while he tightened his grip around his brother's slim waist, careful not to place his hand too low and press into his hip. At the same time, he started steering Charlie towards the door.

"Isn't it kind of early to be going to the doctor's?"

"There should be someone on call. If not, then I'm taking you to the hospital."

Step by step they made their way down to the truck, Don supporting Charlie in more ways than one.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_TBC_

_I'll post the final installment after Christmas. Merry Christmas everyone!_


	6. Epilogue

_Thank you for your support everyone! Here's the last part._

**Inner Demons**

**Part 6/6**

by Megan

_As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live._

_-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832)_

The sound of Charlie's gentle breathing filled the otherwise silent living room. Fast asleep on the couch, Charlie lay on his right side looking more peaceful than he had in weeks. His brown locks had tumbled down over his face hiding the colour that had returned to the previously too pale skin.

Even though Don was dismayed with the fact Charlie was sleeping on the couch and not in his own bed, he didn't have the heart to wake him. Don had argued with Charlie about it, but by the time Don had run out to the car to grab his brother's prescription, he was dead to the world. Don opted to cover Charlie with a blanket and keep his noise level to a minimum, though he seriously doubted anything would rouse Charlie from his deep sleep.

As he sat and watched Charlie sleep, he replayed the scene from the doctor's office over in his mind. After helping his brother into the office, the nurse had taken one look at the distress emanating from Charlie and ushered them immediately to a room. The doctor on call had not been the one who had treated Charlie originally, so they'd had to wait while he pulled Charlie's chart and consulted with Dr. Haberson over the phone.

To say Dr. Haberson was upset was a serious understatement. After learning Charlie had been doubling his Percocet dose, and because he'd been on it so long, the two doctor's had decided on a course of action that had surprised Don.

A quiet moan interrupted Don's reverie, and he focused on his younger brother. "Charlie? You okay?"

Blinking owlishly at him, Charlie nodded. "What time is it?"

"After six."

"You mean I've been asleep since ten this morning?"

"I'd say that's cause you needed it, Buddy." Standing up, Don walked over to Charlie and offered him his hand. "I made you some soup. Come on."

Charlie's hand in his was warm and strong. The exact opposite of the way it had been earlier in the day. As he followed Charlie into the kitchen, he felt himself finally starting to relax. While he was still shaky, Charlie's gait was much improved. Only occasionally would Charlie reach out for the wall to steady himself.

Placing his hand on the small of Charlie's back, Don guided him into a chair and went to serve them both a bowl of soup and slice of bread.

"Smells good," Charlie remarked.

Don smiled to himself. "I'm glad you think so. All those... minutes I put into making it were tiring."

Charlie watched Don fill both bowls to the rim. "No, no. Not that much, Don. I'm not that hungry."

"Charlie," Don started as he placed the full bowl in front of his brother. "You heard what the doctor said about taking care of yourself."

"I know," Charlie replied.

"You'd better take one of these before you eat as well." Don placed a prescription bottle on the table beside the bowl of soup.

Charlie eyed the bottle warily. Of all the things he'd expected the doctor to do, this wasn't one of them. Because he had been doubling his dose and had been on the drug longer than necessary, he had become physically addicted. At Charlie's sullen expression, the doctor had elaborated. He was physically addicted, not mentally. A true drug addict abuses pain killers when they are not in pain. In his case, his body had become used to high levels of the drug, and when that drug was suddenly stopped, his body rebelled. Given the withdrawal was relatively minor, the doctor had thought it best to put Charlie on a low dose of the narcotic and reduce it slowly. That way, instead of his system being shocked by the sudden discontinuation of the drug, it would adjust to the decreasing dosage until no more was needed.

At least this way he didn't have to experience the withdrawal symptoms that could have lasted as many as five more days. No more nausea, runny nose, excruciating pain, nothing. All he felt was an all-consuming need to collapse anywhere, but preferably somewhere warm and soft, and not move for a week. There was also an ache in his hip, but that was nothing compared to what he'd been feeling earlier.

Charlie didn't know what was worse. The fact his inability to ask for help had led to this, or that he had been about to do something incredibly stupid and illegal. The past few weeks were a blur to him. A seemingly distant memory hazy around the edges from pain, exhaustion and little food.

"Charlie," Don started as he watched his brother eat. "I want you to know that in the future, you can come to me with any problem, all right? Anything at all. I promise I won't judge you or give you a hard time. This was close. Too close. I'd hate to see anything happen to you that could have been prevented with a conversation."

"I suppose any problem I have in the future couldn't be any worse than this, huh?" He smirked as he said this.

Don smiled back. "I suppose not. I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with." Charlie snorted, but Don continued. "I know we didn't talk for a long time there, but I want that to change. Promise me, Charlie. Promise me that you'll come to me with anything. Or Larry, or Dad, or even Terry. You have a lot of people that care about you."

Charlie looked at Don and saw the raw emotion on his face. His brown eyes were openly conveying his concern, something he didn't do often. There was no disgust over what had just occurred; no judgment. This was genuine, and Charlie wasn't going to screw this up.

"I promise, Don." He looked Don directly in the eye as he this, and saw one thing he almost never saw on his brother's face. Faith. Faith in him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You don't think given that this equation is inversely proportional to x, that y would still hold true?"

"Possibly, but the student failed to take into account all the variables. It should look like this." Larry took the pen from Amita and demonstrated his point. They both sat at his desk, grading papers and amicably debating the smaller details of each students work. A soft knock at the door caught their attention, and two pairs of eyes gazed curiously at the new comer.

"Charles!" Larry exclaimed, rising from the chair to greet his friend. "Come in, come in. Amita and I were just grading papers. What brings you by our little gathering?"

"Well, I thought I'd drop by and let you know I'll be returning to teach day after tomorrow."

"That's great!" Amita replied. "And look at you, no cane."

Charlie raised both hands in the air as though demonstrating they were indeed empty. "That's right, I'll be ready for the hundred yard dash in no time," he joked.

Larry watched the interchange between the two, a smile gracing his lips. He hadn't seen the younger man in a while, and it was amazing what a few days off had done for him. He positively glowed with energy, his brown eyes bright with the knowledge that shortly he'd be in front of the class once again. There were still faint smudges under his eyes and his clothes were a tad loose, but on the whole he looked good.

"I trust that Amita, myself, and your impressionable young students are safe from anymore displays of strong emotion then?" he asked, a knowing gleam in his eye.

Charlie paused, a pained expression briefly crossing his features. "About that. Larry, Amita, I owe you guys an apology. My behaviour over the past few weeks was inexcusable."

"You don't have to apologize, Charlie. We know you were going through a rough time and weren't yourself," Amita patiently stated.

"But you don't know the exact cause for my behaviour. How can you forgive me so willingly? I treated you guys horribly." He'd made Don promise not to tell anyone about what had gone on. Even Larry and Amita.

"We're your friends, Charlie. It's what we do for one another. It doesn't matter that we don't know the details. All that matters now is you're better."

Feeling the emotions in the room starting to get strong, Charlie smiled and made a quick conversation change. "So, can I give you guys a hand?"

Pulling up a third chair to the desk, the three of them fell into the familiar pattern of debating, teasing, and teaching each other, much like they had many weeks earlier.

_The End_

_Megan - December 2005_

_I know a few of you have asked for either a sequel, or for me to expand the story. I can't see that happening in the near future because I couldn't think of anything else to add that wouldn't drag the story out unnecessarily. I do, however, have another story in the works._

_Also, for those of you who are interested, I have an alternate version of Chapter 5 posted in my LJ. The link can by found in my profile listed as my homepage._


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